Speaking Silence
by Carlisle Cooperative
Summary: After their recent disastrous visit to an alien planet, Ten and Rose have it out...with the assistance of the TARDIS.


The Doctor was furious. She knew because he was quiet.

"I'm sorry," she ventured, watching him pull levers and push buttons hard enough to break them.

He sent her a glare from underneath his eyebrows before walking around to the other side of the console so she couldn't see him anymore.

"I am," she insisted, following him.

"I said," he bit out, spinning a wheel a tad too quickly, "one thing to you, didn't I? One thing. I said, 'Don't pet them.'" He walked around the console again, once more blocking her view of him. "'Whatever you do, don't pet them. They may look fuzzy and soft and have big puppy-dog eyes, but that are _not_ puppy-dogs and you should _not_ pet them, because horrible things will happen.'" He finished his circuit of the console and spun the same wheel again. "Isn't that what I said to you?" he demanded.

"It is, yes, but I didn't—"

"And how often do I give you instructions? I _never_ give you instructions."

Oh, well, that was a bit rich. "You're constantly giving me instructions," she retorted. "You're constantly ordering me around."

"Yes!" he agreed, as if he were not just contradicting his previous statement. "And you never obey me!"

"_Obey_ you? Talking of things that aren't puppy-dogs, I'm Rose Tyler." She stuck out her hand as if he would shake it and twisted a sardonic smile at him. "I'm sorry. I think I may have failed obedience school."

The Doctor looked at her outstretched hand, then met her eyes, mirrored her sardonic smile, and walked to the other side of the console again.

Rose lowered her hand. "And anyway," she continued, loudly—it was possible she was shouting, but really, who was keeping track?—dogging him around the console, "nine times out of ten, when we've run for our lives, or been thrown in gaol, or been almost sacrificed, it's because _you've_ got us into trouble, so maybe, every once in a while, _I'm_ allowed to be the one who gets us into trouble."

"There's a difference," the Doctor spat out. He dragged out the sonic screwdriver and zapped it randomly at a spot on the console. Rose was quite sure the action served no purpose at all. "When _I_ get us into trouble, I haven't been warned, not hours earlier, _not_ to do the exact thing that I have done."

"I said that I'm sorry," she reminded him, and thought she'd like to kill him.

"And now," he continued, as if she'd said nothing at all, "we have been banned for life! Banned! For life! And that's one of my favourite planets! And I can never go back!"

Rose rolled her eyes at his melodrama. "Oh, please. You've only to wait for your next regeneration. Which could happen sooner than you think," she added, under her breath.

Not under her breath enough. He narrowed his eyes. "What was that?"

Rose assumed an air of innocence. "What? Nothing. I didn't say anything."

The Doctor glowered at her, then turned and stalked out of the control room.

"Oi!" Rose called after him. "Where d'you think you're going?" He didn't answer. She stomped after him. "Hey! We're having an argument! You can't just wander off in the middle of an argument!" The hallway she was standing in was empty. Not surprising. "Bloody git." Finding the Doctor in the TARDIS when he didn't want to be found was impossible.

Which was why she was pleasantly shocked to open the first door she came to and find herself in a sizable room rather like the Wardrobe, except it contained nothing but classic black tuxedos. And one sulky-looking Doctor, who was standing in the middle of the room and whirled to face her when she entered. He looked furious.

"How did you get in here?" he demanded.

"I walked," she answered shortly, closing the door and looking around her. "What is this place?"

"It's—you're leaving." He walked briskly past her to the door, and went to tug it open. And then swore.

Rose stopped surveying the rows of tuxedos and looked back at him in surprise. He was pulling at the doorknob, throwing all his weight behind it.

"Bloody!" he gritted out. "Hell!"

Rose's eyes widened. "What? What's the matter?"

"She's locked us in," he said, displeased, and then kicked angrily at the wall of the TARDIS.

And then the lights went out.

It was times like these when Rose really wished the TARDIS would translate some of the more obscure languages for her. She had no doubt that the words coming out of the Doctor's mouth were rather colourful, and it never hurt to have some of those at one's disposal. Unfortunately, despite the TARDIS's willingness to lock her and the Doctor in a dark room together, the ship didn't appear willing to translate bad language.

Rose sighed and slowly walked towards where she thought the wall had been. It was closer than she had expected, and she let out a slight "oof" as she walked into it. There was no response from the Doctor, although she could hear the rustle of fabric as he moved somewhere near her.

Deciding sulky silence was worse than being yelled at, she spoke. "How was I meant to know that 'Dogs Playing Poker' was an actual painting of _actual_ aliens?"

"Because I told you! Right before I_ told _you not to pet the adorable puppy dogs!" He mimicked her voice, and she could easily visualise him patting the head of an imaginary dog.

Rose had to admit, she had been rather distracted at the time the Doctor was giving her the pre-visit instructions. How was she supposed to attend to what he was saying when he was spread-eagle across the console, trying to use every appendage to fly the machine? He had to have known his bum was wiggling right in front of her, and who could concentrate with that in front of them?

She heard him sigh and braced herself. _That_ sigh was a warning, clear as neon, that he was about to lecture her about her failings as a companion. Oh, she loved these little chats. She poked her tongue out at him; childish, yes, but it made her feel better.

"Has it not occurred to you that there is a reason I tell you these things? A reason that has _nothing_ to do with enjoying the sound of my own voice—as nice a voice as it is—or trying to make you _obey_ me—as if I ever could or you ever would—and _everything_ to do with keeping you safe?"

She shifted uncomfortably, but remained silent as the Doctor continued.

"The Perinea Conks have not only had to deal with the ravages of planet-wide war, disease, and a fascination with Disco—they've spent centuries now being tormented by humans and other connoisseurs of 'fine' art, intent on visiting the planet that inspired sixteen rather dodgy oil paintings in the early 20th Century. And you know how humans are—you demonstrated how they are!—they walk up and assume they're the smartest thing going because they're bipedal and hairless—well, relatively--and patronize the locals and rub their fuzzy wittle ears and rubdatummy _who wants to rubdatummy_?" He was working himself into a fine fettle; Rose slid down the wall to a seated position, knees up against her chest, her head tilted back. She hated it when he was like this.

"You'd be upset if someone treated you like that, and yet you didn't think twice about doing it to them. Just because they bear a striking resemblance to an animal that you _humans _treat as pets!"

It took every ounce of Rose's willpower not to point out that the Doctor had rather a knack for acting like that himself sometimes. She bit her tongue--best to just let him get whatever was angering him out of his system.

He sighed heavily; she felt his hand close around hers. She hadn't heard him move, and was briefly startled. He continued.

"The no-touch rule originally came about because of a pandemic flea outbreak in the zworth Flerping dynasty. Don't laugh—it decimated the population. And while humans were immune, they were incredibly effective carriers; implementing a rule forbidding touch was one of the more effective ways to combat the problem. The penalties for unauthorized touching were severe; in those days, death was the _only_ penalty. No trial, no appeal. Just a trip outside to the small mountain used for executions. Walk them into the cave, seal it shut, let the cave-dwellers do their damage. Not a pleasant way to go, and everyone soon knew _not. to. touch._

"Of course, as you've now learnt firsthand—not that you would have had to if you'd _listened_ to me!—there's another penalty. But the Conk would have been well within his rights to have you sent out to the Mountain immediately, no questions, no trial, no appeals. There would have been nothing I could do, Rose. I would have lost you." His hand tightened around hers.

She swallowed, the understanding of her near-miss finally registering in her mind and gut. He _had_ tried to tell her, she'd just assumed he was being overprotective again. And then when the looked-like-a-St.-Bernard-but-wasn't had come bounding up to her, tongue lolling and tail wagging, how could she _not_ scratch behind his ears? She scooted closer to the Doctor, her body leaning against his as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. You were right, and…I'm sorry." She whispered the words, squeezing his hand. He remained silent and tense, and she felt the tension in her stomach coil more tightly. What if she had finally stepped over the line with him? It was easy to forget, in all of their fun running about the universe, that there were rules. Had she finally broken one of the ones he cared about?

She felt her heartbeat increase, her breath grow shallower; as she heard him draw breath to speak, she held her own. "I'm only ever trying to protect you, Rose." She felt him turn, could feel him looking down at her even in the darkness.

She leaned into him, whispered, "I know. I'm sorry."

They sat there in the darkness. The Doctor shifted, bringing his arm up around Rose's shoulders, and she snuggled against his side. She was aware of a light brush against her hair, and felt herself flush.

"So, what's this room, then?" Her question was loud in the silence, and she winced at the artlessness of it. Why should she feel so flustered by the Doctor kissing her hair?

"It's the tuxedo room."

"Got that, thanks. But why?"

"The well-dressed Time Lord can never have too many tuxedoes."

She snorted. She'd seen the punishment he put his suits through, and had no doubt he treated tuxedoes the same way. "And you wear them…when, exactly?"

"Formal dinners, alien hostage-takings, overthrow of dictatorships….special occasions, mostly."

"So, how come I've never seen you in one?"

"We haven't done any of those things. Maybe, one day, if you're lucky and good and actually _listen_ to what I tell you, I'll wear one."

"And why were you trying to hide in a wardrobe full of tuxedoes, exactly?"

"They don't talk back. And they weren't yelling at me."

"I wasn't yelling."

He snorted.

"I was trying to share my opinion. _You_ were yelling."

"I did no such thing. I was merely expressing my feelings on the matter."

"I think you were going to play dress-up."

"I—no such—I would never play dress-up!" he spluttered in indignation.

"Then why do you have a four-storey wardrobe room _and_ a tuxedo wardrobe?"

"Nine hundred years! Remember? Nine hundred years of wearing clothes--well, most of the time; it would be wasteful to throw things away. And you never know when you're going to have to show up dressed like the locals. Remember Cardiff?"

"I know _I've_ used the wardrobe room. But besides the transition from U-boat Captain to Geeky Professor, I don't think I've seen _you_ use it. Which makes me think you like to play dress-up in front of the mirrors when I'm sleeping at night. Because what kind of man keeps two huge cupboards?"

"I'm not geeky!" He paused, and then sulkily added, "You think you're so funny."

"I am so funny. And you love it."

There was an awkward silence. Rose cleared her throat—perhaps it was time to focus on practicalities. "Don't suppose you have a light in one of those pockets of yours?"

"Actually…" The Doctor leapt to his feet, depriving her of the warmth of his body snuggled against her. For some strange reason, his absence sent disappointment plummeting through her. "I should…have…something…somewhere…" He was half-muttering to himself in the darkness.

Rose forced herself to focus on the Doctor, telling herself she was behaving foolishly. She could hear him fumbling around. A couple of items brushed her legs, and she frowned a bit. "Whassat?" she asked.

"What's what?" he replied, sounding preoccupied.

"I don't know, there's…stuff…falling on me."

"Oh. Sorry about that. Aha! Here. Hold this."

She reached out blindly, and his hand found hers, thrusting something small and cool, metallic-feeling, into it. "What is it?"

"A lighter. Just…a…second…There!" His hand darted out and took the lighter out of hers. After another moment, a small, feeble light flickered into being. "Ta-da!" exclaimed the Doctor, plainly delighted.

Rose stared at him. He was cradling a tea light in the palm of his hand. The tiny candle gave off barely enough light to illuminate his features. "_That's_ the light? We might as well use the blink-y feature on the sonic screwdriver."

It was bright enough for Rose to see the disdain on his face. "The sonic screwdriver isn't a _torch_, Rose."

Rose's attention had shifted, though, to the truly impressive pile of random detritus that littered the floor by the Doctor's Converses. "What _is_ all this?" she asked, in astonishment.

"Oh." He looked down at it, moving his hand to better illuminate the rubbish. "Never know what you might need, do you?" He shrugged a bit.

She looked up at him in amazement. "But…Surely this didn't all come out of your pockets?"

"Of course it did! Where else would it come from?"

Rose knitted her eyebrows together. "Hold on." She scrambled onto her knees and leaned toward him curiously, then stuck one of her hands into his nearest trouser pocket.

The Doctor jumped and skittered away from her, the tea light guttering viciously. In the dim lighting, she could have sworn he was blushing. "Oi!" he exclaimed. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Are they bigger on the inside?" she asked, incredulously.

He gestured to himself. "Time Lord," he reminded her, with a bit of a sniff of superiority.

She grinned. "Right. So, come on." She patted the spot on the floor next to her. "Have a seat, share a bit of that light, let's see what you've got."

The Doctor sat but he looked reluctant, watching Rose sift through the pile. "It's really just a bunch of random—"

She held up a rubber band. "What's this?"

Even in the feeble light, he could see her cheeks tinged pink with excitement. "It's a rubber band, Rose." He broke the prosaic news to her gently.

Her face fell. She regarded the rubber band for a moment, looked back at him. "You're sure it's not some cunning piece of alien technology?"

"Positive," he assured her, gravely.

"So I suppose this is a paper clip?" She held it up.

"Uh," he said, and then extracted it from her hand. "That's actually a solar refractor-compressor-combustor."

"A what?"

"A very dangerous weapon, and why don't I just put it back in my pocket, hmm? Really, Rose, none of this is very inter—"

"Chewing gum?" She held it up.

"Yes," he affirmed on a sigh.

"Very old chewing gum." She looked at the packaging, and then lifted her eyebrows at him, silently requesting the story behind it.

"Yes, I picked it up in 1972."

"When did you go to 1972?"

"Oh, it was…lifetimes ago."

His eyes were inscrutable, looking at the chewing gum packet, obscured by his eyelashes. "Did you used to wear that suit?" she asked.

"No, I…I move things, from pockets to pockets."

He was speaking reluctantly, in a tone of voice that told her further questions about that particular topic would not be welcome. She had a vision of him scrounging through the pockets of his leather jacket and transferring the contents into the brown coat he now wore, and changed the subject. She picked up a long, thin piece of metal. "What's this?"

He brightened enthusiastically. "Oh, this is brilliant. Watch this. Hold it out."

Rose did as she was told, and he pressed the lighter to the tip. It burst into sparks. "It's a sparkler?" she guessed.

"Not _just _a sparkler. Wait. Listen." The Doctor tipped his head toward the sparkler.

Rose mimicked the movement. The sparkler suddenly began emitting a horrible, whining noise that kept changing in pitch at a frantic rate. Rose wrinkled her nose and drew back. "What is that?"

"It's music," he explained, brightly. "Drambellian music. Don't you like it?"

She didn't want to say it was horrid, because he looked as if he enjoyed it; she didn't want to hurt his feelings or upset him so soon after they'd struck a truce. "It's, uh, different."

Luckily, the "music" ended when the sparkler sparked itself out. The Doctor sighed nostalgically, looking at the burnt-out piece of metal. "I'd forgotten I had that. We should go to Drambellia, pick up a few more."

Drambellia sounded like the last place in the universe she wanted to go. Rose discarded the piece of metal and searched through the pile for something interesting.

She found something very interesting, indeed.

She extracted the small foil packet from the pile and held it up to him, arching a single eyebrow. "Never know what you might need, do you, Doctor?" she drawled at him.

There was no mistaking the blush this time—it went right to the roots of his hair. He snatched the condom out of her hand and, clearing his throat, replaced it in his pocket. "No," he replied, primly. "You don't."

Rose regarded him for a moment. What would he ever need a condom for? Other than the obvious, of course. But the Doctor didn't… Did the Doctor…?

The Doctor scratched the back of his neck and hastily picked an object out of the pile at random. "Look, Rose, this is a, uh," he looked down to see what he held. "pencil. How about that? Not every day you see one of those, is it?" He sent her his manic, quick-distract-her grin.

Rose lifted her eyebrows. Actually, she _did_ see pencils just about every day, but the Doctor was plainly trying very hard to move the subject off the condom. Which was…interesting, to say the least. Rose made the decision not to press it. It was the last thing she needed to do. When the Doctor kissed her hair, she practically turned into a babbling idiot. How would she ever manage to ask him what, exactly, he planned on doing with a condom?

She picked up another item. "What's this?"

"It's a walnut, Rose." The Doctor's voice contained a trace of mirth.

"Why d'you carry one of those around then?" Rose asked, somewhat defensively.

"Squirrels." He looked serious, but he was still new enough to her that she couldn't always read his expressions correctly. She shrugged, and decided to move on.

There were several balls of what looked like lint, a banana peel (she wrinkled her nose at the blackening husk, and took great enjoyment from the Doctor's slightly embarrassed look), something that looked like a fishhook but wasn't, a packet of tea, and several oddly shaped gewgaws that she couldn't begin to describe and which the Doctor assured her were quite safe even as he rapidly tucked them back in his pockets. A flash of colour caught her eye, the dull red gleaming in the pile of pastel or grey debris, and she gently removed what looked to be a red plastic oval.

"Silly putty?" She held the object out to the Doctor. He looked blankly at her before he realized she was asking after the contents of the object. He glanced back down, and she felt her breath catch at the look that stole over his face as he gave the contents of her hand a closer look. He looked back up at her, eyes bright, and paused briefly in contemplation before speaking.

"Here." His voice was soft as he reached over to her. Using a light touch, he turned her empty hand over so the palm was up, placing the warm tea light in it before taking the red oval in his now-free hands. Face intent, he delicately opened it.

Inside of each half was a perfect miniature landscape. Rose gasped, and leaned in for a closer look. "'s beautiful," she whispered in awe. She raised her eyes back to the Doctor's face. "What is it?" The Doctor dragged his eyes up from the object in his hands to meet Rose's eager look; she didn't think she'd ever seen him look so serious.

"It's a relic." She held her breath as he paused briefly. "A memory, from…before." He looked back down and gently married the two halves back together before carefully placing the object in his pocket.

The mood in the room once more became heavy with silence. The Doctor stared out into the darkness while Rose cast about for some way to ease the tension. She shifted, trying to get more comfortable, and let out an involuntary "ouch!" when some of the wax from the tea light splashed on to her hand. She cast about for a place to set the light, and was startled when the Doctor delicately retrieved the small object from her hand, lightly brushing his fingers over her palm as he lifted the tea light. She looked up at him in surprise.

"Time Lord. I think I can handle the threat of melted wax." He winked.

It broke the mood, his cheekiness causing her to grin. The pile of items from his pockets was still in front of them and Rose eagerly went back to exploring it, holding up any object which caught her eye while the Doctor patiently explained what it was.

"Gramphelien crescent wrench," in response to something that looked like a miniature cricket bat.

"Optical shift transmitting replicator." Rose remained convinced they were really a small pair of binoculars, in spite of the Doctor's sincerity.

"Guide to Yevling flora and fauna," for a small, surprisingly heavy cube.

"Shoe polish," for the small tube that looked like chap stick.

"A slinky." Rose looked at the small coil of steel, and laughed.

She'd no idea how long they sat like that, the candle flickering with each movement or exchange of words. However, the pile was eventually cleared off to the side, the more dangerous items tucked back into the Doctor's capacious pockets. And still the TARDIS kept the room dark.

Silence once again descended between the two of them, and Rose could hear the soft 'pop' of the wick as it burned. She glanced to her side. The Doctor still held the light in his hand, his forearm propped on his leg as his palm cupped it; he was leaning back on his other hand and gazing at her quite intently. She felt herself blush at the renewed scrutiny, and felt a panicked need to break the silence.

Perhaps the panic explained the conversational starter she chose.

"How often have you been saved by a condom?"

The Doctor's eyes widened and she could see him blush once again. Rose wanted to die from embarrassment—she really needed to have a chat with the little voice that generally kept her from saying stupid things like that. She averted her eyes, looking intently at the floor as she played with the carpet. She wasn't expecting a response.

"Oh, you'd be amazed."

She looked up, surprised at the tone of the Doctor's voice—a long lazy drawl that she'd not heard out of this version of him. Well, not when he wasn't possessed. She met his eyes and swallowed; the corner of his mouth quirked in response, and she quickly looked away again.

"You _did_ ask, Rose."

Well. Two could play at that game. She steeled herself, raising her eyes to meet his. "So I did. 's it bigger on the inside, too?" She poked her tongue out the corner of her mouth, teasingly, and watched his reaction. She had to fight down a smile as she saw his demeanour grow a little less confident.

"What?" His voice was a bit higher than normal.

"Well, it was in a pretty small package. With you being a Time Lord and all…thought it might be bigger on the inside." She widened her eyes in innocence and fought to suppress a grin.

The Doctor's eyes were large and he was apparently shocked at her brazenness—but only briefly. She watched as he recollected himself, eyes growing dark as they once more focused on her with the laser-like intensity that made her flush with heat.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" His voice was low again, and Rose felt a shiver pass up her spine.

He had leaned in; she, unconsciously, had mirrored him. The candlelight flickered as they stared at each other, faces inches apart, waiting to see who would make the first move—and what it would be.

The Doctor was just beginning to lean forward—Rose was sure of it—when the lights flickered back on.


End file.
